


The Sound of His Voice

by scisaacugh



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Paradise, Past Character Death, angsty i guess, guess whether or not I cried, marry me by train came on pandora when I was editing this, spoilers for all 3 books ofc, the answer is yes I did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scisaacugh/pseuds/scisaacugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Newt gave Thomas the note, he slipped in a photo of them, taken before the Glade. It's a damn good thing he did; at least he’ll remember Newt’s smile, even when he can’t remember how his voice sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of His Voice

Thomas lies in bed his first night in Paradise. A lot of things there had already been set up – the cabins were mostly bare but had the essentials, and the lunchroom was stocked – but he and the other survivors had still worked hard to get started on their new life. Though no one said it outright, he suspected most of the people only wanted to work to keep their minds off what they’d lost. Thomas himself had been fully immersed in gathering supplies and organising items; if he stopped, the weight on his shoulders would crush him. He wasn't sure he could handle it.

Now, as he’s lying awake in bed and staring at darkness, everything is coming back. Teresa, literally crushed to save his life, trying so hard to get out those last few words, to convince Thomas she had always cared. Chuck, covered in blood and lying limp in Thomas’s arms, forced by WICKED to sacrifice himself so that Thomas could keep on as their beloved subject. And Newt.

Newt’s wild eyes, dull and untrusting. His harsh words spat at Thomas. His longtime depression and suicidal tendencies.

When they first met in the Glade, Newt had been this bright, sturdy guide who never stopped encouraging, never stopped helping. He supported Thomas in everything, offered a comfort no one else was able to give him. It was hard for Thomas _not_ to fall for him. He was practically an angel.

Thomas sniffs, takes a deep breath. His chest shakes as he lets it out. If anyone deserved to make it to Paradise, it was Newt.

“Wishing won’t bring him back,” Thomas whispers to himself, shivering in the coolness of the night. Tugging his sheets closer, he tries again to calm himself, but it doesn’t work. By now, Newt has taken over his mind like the Flare and won’t fucking leave him alone. He can’t scream to let out his frustration, as Minho is (somehow) asleep on the other side of the room.

With a dull ache in his chest, Thomas reaches over the side of his bed, patting around until he finds his jacket. Reaching into the pocket, he pulls out a photo. _The_ photo. The one Newt somehow got, then slipped in with the note begging Thomas to kill him. He switches on his flashlight.

Thomas stares at the image of his younger self lounging on a couch with his arm thrown around Newt, who looks about fifteen. His feet are in the older boy’s lap, and they both look impossibly happy. Content, even, the way you’d look if everything was right in the world. It was a look he was unused to seeing on anyone else’s face, let alone his own, and it baffled him. How could his life ever have been good, even for a day? He can’t even remember the last time he laughed, really laughed. Not that that’s anything new; thanks to the Swipe, he can’t even remember taking the damn picture, either. Didn’t realise he and Newt had been so close before they entered the Glade. It makes sense, though, that Thomas was probably always in love with him. They’d shared an unusual bond, and Newt was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Still is.

Now more than ever, he needs Newt and his gentle guidance, his soothing words whispered into Thomas’s ear or mouthed against his skin. He needs his hands to hold, his body to cling to when the world became too much to handle. He needs Newt stroking his hair as he falls asleep, kissing his cheek just because he feels like it. Newt was safety and love and warmth. He was –

Thomas is already forgetting the sound of his voice. The whispered words, as well as the laughter that sounded the way Thomas figures sunshine would if it could make a noise, are fading way too fast. Wasn’t that something that happened over a long period of time? Shouldn’t he remember how the love of his fucking life sounded when he joked with Thomas or calmed him after a nightmare? How long has he even been gone?

It’s a damn good thing he has the photo. At least he’ll remember Newt’s smile, even when he can’t remember how his voice sounds.

Thomas doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels warmth on his cheeks.


End file.
